


Drawing Draco

by Yamazing



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Artist Harry Potter, Harry Potter Leaves the Wizarding World, M/M, Minor Character Death, Original Character(s), Writer Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-12 17:05:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11741409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yamazing/pseuds/Yamazing
Summary: Harry just kind of wants a break from all the crazy magic evil people stuff. Honestly, it's been quite tiring. So he starts going to a muggle college. He's always wanted to do art anyways, but it just kind of seemed like wizards didn't do stuff like that. At college, he unexpectedly meets someone he knows. I wonder who that might be... Hmm.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! I have tried to make the fic great, so let's hope it's great, and let's hope you think it's great, and let's hope whoever else reads it thinks it's great...  
> Really though, I hope you like it. Enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: Yeah, I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters and I don't own the franchise, so all hail queen Rowling. Or something.

Harry had taken an interest in art back at Hogwarts, before the war and everything else had fully distracted him from exploring who he was. He'd been jealous that Dean could do it so much and so well, while Harry himself was stuck saving the world and trying to live up to the masses' expectations, but he'd pushed it away as was necessary at the time. After the war, he'd finally realized that he could pursue what he wanted, and had moved to a town that had a liberal arts college in it on a whim. After reacquainting himself with muggle culture for a year, Harry had applied to the college in town and gotten in, deciding within the first trimester that he wanted to major in something art-related.

Now, he's been at the school for most of his first year, and he hasn't been disappointed. Making things and being creative brings him so much joy, and art especially holds him up in the town isolated from anything at all Wizard related. He hasn't picked a specific major, and he hasn't decided what type of art he enjoys the most, but all of his classes have treated him well.

Harry’s had fun exploring himself as an artist, and he’s found that he draws with absolute objectivity. When he's drawing a person or something that he's looking at, he has a specific and methodical way of drawing then to a tee.

Well, trying to draw them to a tee.

Today, Harry gets to his realism class early. To get into the mood, he sketches a faceless silhouette. He like the way that silhouettes look, leaving so much up to the imagination of the viewer, so there are a lot of doodles in his sketchbooks of grey, shadowy silhouettes. Plus, they're a good warm up for drawing a model, as they often do in this class.

Lo and behold, when Harry finishes the silhouette and belatedly tunes in to his professor giving instructions, she's telling them to sketch the model as they normally do, and Harry turns the analytical and logical parts of his brain off in favor of looking and drawing alone. He takes in the blond hair and slim figure. He takes in the pale skin and grey eyes. Through it all, he draws the model in the middle of the room just like he would any other.

His drawing is satisfactory less than halfway through the period, but he doesn't stop then, of course. Everyone should be working until "I push you out of the room myself," in the words of Ms. Taney. Once he finishes, he walks out of the room with a friend named Raphael, and they joke and bump each other on the way to his abstract class.

They sit next to each other there, and Harry has fun interpreting verbal descriptions into drawings for a warm up. After that, they part ways, and he spends his time in the rest of his classes with various other friends.

When he gets back to his dorm, he plops down in bed and prepares to relax for about five minutes. He knows that after those five minutes, the sort-of-friends that he's made since arriving here will text him and force him to go out and club with them just like they do every night. He doesn't exactly love it, but it's something to do and he knows that lying in bed for too long isn't good for him.

When Harry does that, he always ends up thinking about everything that used to be a part of his life that isn't anymore. No one in the town knows that he's a Wizard, which, while freeing, is also just another thing he has to suppress. He loves his life, but he also misses Ron and Hermione, Luna, Neville, everyone who he made it through Hogwarts with. He's fallen out of contact with them. He'd be lying if he said there aren't times when he just wants to go back to all of them and give up on everything he's built here, but that would be too much like quitting, so he never does.

His phone beeps with a text, as expected, and Harry heads out to the indicated bar. The walk is short, but his melancholy, which shines brightest when he's alone, manages to slow him down, and he walks reluctantly towards normalcy.

The normalcy isn't all bad though. Most of the reason he moved to the Muggle town was that he wanted less life-and-death level drama in his life.

Yet there are parts of his life that he resents for their normalcy. His friends and their excessive drinking and partying, for instance. He has no problem with either, but when done as regularly as they are, they begin to lose any value they might've had and blur together into years wasted getting nothing done.

Part of that, he thinks, has to do with the fact that no one has had the sense of purpose in their life that Harry had for the longest time. Maybe he doesn't anymore, but when he was actually doing things to further Wizard-kind, he didn't have time to stop and think about if his life mattered. Now, he craves that sense of purpose, but not all of his friends- not many, in fact- have had that taste of it to alert them of its existence.

It seems like he arrives at the club and leaves almost minutes later. The whole thing passes in a cloud of nothing, and it makes him sad as usual.

Harry finds that nowadays he looks forward to school more than anything else. That in itself is a little sad, sure, but school and art bring him happiness, and at least that's one thing that does so.

It's more than there was two years ago.

Days pass. Art classes, laughter, and dim lit clubs with too-loud music blend together.

They draw the same model in his realism class twice more, and the grey eyes and blond hair stick out ever so slightly. Not enough to make him think, though. They do more short activities in his abstract class, which he enjoys.

Every once in awhile, Harry likes to look through all of the art he makes. Some people look at everything and analyse it right after they draw it, he's sure, but that's never been pleasant for him. The memory of making it is always too powerful and distorts what he sees. He likes to give it time. He looks at it while he draws, but once he's done, he puts it away for the time being.

So, Saturday night before he goes to sleep, Harry pulls out the last month's worth of art and settles on his bed to look through them all. He leaves out the past week for the next viewing session to give the memory of making them some time to fade.

He laughs some and smiles more at the feelings that lie just beneath the papers' surface. Sometimes he feels sad too, but that's almost always interwoven with rueful happiness.

Harry puts the pieces he wants to keep in his saving box once he's done and leaves the past week's on the floor. As he walks past them, he glances down and realizes that he hasn't covered them as he often does. He lays the large portfolio from the beginning of the year on top of them and gets ready for bed.

Brushing his teeth, he feels a little bit off. Washing his face, the feeling grows and he wonders if he's missed something important recently. Changing out of his jeans and into sweat pants, he tries to ignore the feeling so that he can sleep. His subconscious will figure it out if need be. As he gets into bed, Harry feels restless. Although it takes him a while to relax to the point of sleep, soon enough he sinks into a deep slumber.

* * *

 

_ It's him! _

Harry sits up in bed with a gasp of air at the thought. He tries not to jump to conclusions, but his brain concludes anyways. It whirs at the thought that the pale skin, blond hair, grey eyes, and pointy face that he know so well belong to who they always have. It whirs at the thought that Draco Malfoy has been modeling at a muggle college for the past week. His brain gets tired of whirring, and realizes- if he even needs confirmation- that the drawings could at least settle the issue.

So Harry fumbles his way out of bed and to the pile of art on the floor. He pulls off the top sheet- presumably the portfolio if he hasn't gone insane quite yet- and looks down at black.

He turns on the light so he can see.

And staring eerily at him from the floor is an almost perfect replica of Malfoy's face.

It's alarming.

Almost completely by reflex, Harry turns off the light and stumbles back into his bed.

As the late-night/early-morning escapade draws to its close, Harry's brain shuts off and he falls back to sleep the most confused he's been in a while.

* * *

 

_ Harry gets to school the next day, having forgotten about who the model is. A couple of minutes after he sits down, Malfoy walks into the room, looking like he thinks he's so superior as always. Harry is so surprised that it takes him a long time to even pick up his pencil. When he makes up his mind to pretend that Malfoy is just any model, he clenches his jaw but gets on with it. At the moment he makes that decision, class ends, and while it  _ does  _ seem short, Harry thinks nothing of it. _

_ He walks out of the classroom still feeling tense from his encounter with Malfoy, and heads to a drinking fountain. All the jaw clenching has made him thirsty, for some reason. When he gets there, however, Malfoy has beaten him and is drinking away. He drinks and drinks for what seems like minutes, until finally Harry is ready to leave and get a drink later. When he turns to leave, he feels an arm on his sleeve. _

" _ Don't leave," pleads Malfoy. _

_ Harry doesn't exactly feel the need to comply with Malfoy's unreasonable demands, so he just keeps on walking away. _

_ Or trying. For some reason, Malfoy is unusually strong and won't let him leave. _

_ Harry jerks at his arm, and says, "Let go of me, Malfoy! Leave me alone. After all this time, that's the least you could do." _

_ Malfoy looks angry for a second, but it quickly melts into tears. _

" _ I need help," he murmurs sadly as Harry manages to escape his grip and walks quickly away, “I need you.” _

_ If Harry feels a little bit queasy at ignoring Malfoy, he certainly doesn't acknowledge it. _

* * *

 

The first thing that Harry does as soon as he wakes up is lie in bed and think about what he should do about Malfoy. It seems like there isn't much that he can do. He could confront Malfoy about it and risk coming off to all of his classmates and his teacher as a dick, but he doesn't want to take that risk. On the other hand, he could wait for Malfoy to say something or to stop modeling- whichever comes first. That option seems much more attractive.

That problem no longer weighing on his conscience, Harry gets ready briefly and heads off to his first class.

The class breezes by him as his traitor brain bombards him with questions about Malfoy and he's forced to think about every one without even the possibility of an answer.

In his realism class, he's grateful that they don't work with a model. If that had, he probably would've been so concentrated on Malfoy (or if it wasn't him, comparing the model to Malfoy) that he wouldn't have been able to work on anything at all. At least this way, he can pretend to stay on task. Plus, with the lesson and his current state of mind combined, it kind of feels like the information being "taught" is instead being forced down his throat. Unpleasant as that sounds, Harry finds it easier to stay on task that way.

Throughout the day, Harry goes through stages of openly thinking about Malfoy and actively not thinking about him, which inevitable leads to thinking about Malfoy again.

More days pass and he thinks and thinks while still nothing manages to happen.

He's almost comes to a level of peace with drawing other models throughout the next few weeks, despite the nervous feeling he still gets in his stomach.

When there's just a month left of school, his professor announces that they’ll be drawing a model again and Harry is mostly fine with it. After all this time, he knows it isn't going to be Malfoy.

So, of course, the model who walks in at that point is none but Draco Malfoy himself.

"Now some of the more  _ perceptive  _ of you will have noticed that this model, Draco Malfoy, has come in several times. Since this doesn't happen often, I really hope you took note. However," and she starts to mumble to herself as she sometimes does, "I very much doubt that many of you have managed to achieve that level of awareness." She sighs quietly but with passion. "He is, in fact, going to be out model for the rest of the year on a project. We'll be starting the project today. The end of the year, for the more forgetful of you, is about a month away. I very much hope you've kept your previous drawings of Mr. Malfoy."

Most people nod while some try to hide the panic in their eyes with tight smiles to no avail.

"I'm passing out a rough outline for the project," she says, passing a stack of papers down each row as she walks and talks. "If you read it, you'll find that we're going to experiment with how our intent and the emotion we put behind a drawing can influence how it turns out, even if the model is very similar every time. I expect you to be prepared to do so, and I hope that you'll all start saving your drawings of Mr. Malfoy, at least now that I've brought this to your attention. I'll have you turn in all of this drawing to be evaluated near the end of the school year.

"Now that I've explained the project, I'll tell you what today's assignment is. You'll all be drawing Mr. Malfoy with realistic intent, as you have before, but I want you to make the drawing sad. You could tell a story, imagine a sad backstory or something. You could merely think of sad things. The only thing I ask is that you don't alter his body's position too much. Now, I expect you all to try very hard, even if Malfoy's natural expression does make it easier than it could be, and please make me sad about your art rather than about your level of dedication and success. I'm done talking now, so you can draw if you'd like," and she turns to walk back to her desk.

Harry looks over to see if Malfoy was offended by the comment about his "natural expression" like he surely would've been if it had happened back at Hogwarts, but to his surprise, Malfoy's face is still entirely free of indignation. In fact, the overly neutral face Malfoy seems to fall back to does make it easier to imagine him in a sad scenario, or just being sad. His natural face definitely isn't as condescending as it had been in Hogwarts as well. Harry reflects on how much Malfoy has changed as he begins the drawing.

First Harry thinks he'll think of sad things and draw Malfoy, but after he's a few minutes in he realizes that he blames too much of his sadness on Malfoy, and the drawing has accidentally turned angry rather than sad.

He crumples up the drawing and shoves it in his bag before getting a new paper and starting over. This time, Harry tries to make up a convincingly sad backstory.

Unsurprisingly, considering that he already knows much of Malfoy's backstory, this doesn't work at all.

Getting frustrated and needing to start the final drawing for fear of running out of time, Harry just takes the sad elements of Malfoy's childhood that he knows and runs with them. There are surprisingly many, and before long Harry takes a break to analyse if it's going well. He looks down at his paper to see a vulnerable- almost young looking- and clearly sad Malfoy staring from his paper.

The drawing tugs at his heart, and while it makes him uncomfortable, it also assures him that he's fulfilling the professor's requirements.

He goes back to drawing, and finds that without having to worry about what's happening on his paper, drawing Malfoy is intoxicating. He takes in every minute detail about Malfoy, easily forgetting exactly who Malfoy is supposed to be, and starts to draw him perfectly, glancing briefly down at his paper whenever he needs to make sure his pencil hasn't gone rogue or something.

Strangely enough, Harry doesn't feel strange about his reaction to Malfoy. Part of this is due to the fact that other people are clearly paying rapt attention to Malfoy's every feature, cataloging as many details as they can.

So this, like many things, is Malfoy's fault.

This thought comes with a dangerously low amount of hostility and a more teasing tone, which makes him more uncomfortable than his enjoyment of drawing Malfoy did.

Not in any strange way, mind you. It's like he's an insanely pure person who is innocently loving of something that makes them happy.

Weird analogy, alright.

But really, Harry immensely enjoys drawing Malfoy. He draws with urgency and precision at the same time, and he feels like he's on fire in the best way. He feels alive.

As class nears its end, he draws with more and more urgency until, when class is dismissed, he can barely stop himself from cursing loudly.

Instead, he does so under his breath.

He looks at his drawing, expecting it to be better than normal, but definitely not expecting what he sees. He could never have expected  _ this.  _ The drawing looks so sad, and Malfoy is unmistakably  _ him _ .

Harry is almost unsure that he drew it; it's on a much higher level than his work has ever been.

He finds that the weirdest part is how easy it was. Sure, it took loads of concentration and energy, but it wasn't exactly challenging. Nor was it painful in any way, like he was forcing himself to do it. Rather, he enjoyed it more than he cares to admit.

It was  _ really  _ fun. Harry almost wants to talk to Malfoy and ask him to model for Harry over the summer. It would be nice to carry the enjoyment past this class.

But it's  _ Malfoy.  _ Sure, it's clear he's changed somewhat, but the fact that he's Malfoy is one that Harry is having a hard time getting over. Plus, how would he approach him?

_ Hi Malfoy, I know we hate each other and you supported a monster who killed a lot of my friends but I'd like to put that all aside because I like drawing you. _

No.

And even if he figured that out, how likely is it that Malfoy would actually agree?

Very unlikely.

So Harry gives up on that idea, and continues on with his life and his project. Every time that he draws Malfoy, he feels more and more dismayed at the prospect of the experience dropping out of his life after the school year ends.

After two weeks of a strange mixture of great and torturous classes, depending on whether he's thinking about now or later, Harry finally can't take it anymore, and can't stop himself from walking up to Malfoy after class.

"Malfoy? Will you model for me?"

Malfoy flinches turns around slowly.

"Potter?" he says in a strange tone.

Harry pauses, trying to think of how not to scare Malfoy off with his name.

"Well, yes, but if you could just maybe forget that? That would be nice."

In an even stranger tone, Malfoy says, "You want me to forget that you're you? How do you propose I do that, exactly? I've been trying for a long time but it hasn't exactly worked." Suddenly, his eyebrows furrow and his face becomes guarded. "What do you want, anyways?"

"I just told you," Harry realizes that his response sounded snappish and tries to be nice, "Sorry. I want you to model for me- over the summer probably. If you'd be okay with that. I mean, drawing you is just kind of amazing and I really don't want to lose the opportunity to do so after this class ends."

A light blush forces its way through Malfoy's cold exterior, and Harry finds it strangely adorable.

"Oh. Well unfortunately for you I have no interest in such a thing. Goodbye, Potter."

"Wait," Malfoy turns back with distaste for Harry written all over his face. "Malfoy,” and Malfoy flinches again, “ _ please,  _ would you model for me? It would be completely professional, of course, and you could back out at any point if you wanted to. I just really, and I mean  _ really,  _ want to continue drawing you."

"I told you Potter I'm not interes-"

" _ Please,  _ Malfoy,” he says the name again out of curiosity, and indeed, Malfoy flinches. “I mean," Harry doesn't like the fact that he's basically pleading at this point, but he figures if he's gone this far he might as well go all the way, "I've changed since school, as have you, so please just give me a chance. Let me draw you  _ once,  _ and you can never do it again if you'd like. Hell, I'll actively avoid you if that'd make you happy."

Malfoy rolls his eyes, which feels like an improvement.

He pauses for a moment and then finally nods.

"Fine, Potter, fine. I'll model for you  _ once,  _ and then you can bet you won't see me again after that."

"Yes! Thank you so much!" Harry realizes how loud he had said that and tries to calm his excitement.

"So," Malfoy says, "Do you need my phone number? Email maybe? Or," he continues as his eyes widen, rushing through Harry's astonished silence, "were you just kidding?" He starts muttering to himself, looking vaguely sick and seemingly under the impression that Harry can't hear him. "Oh, I knew it. He was joking. I'm such an idiot. A gullible idiot."

"No!" Harry says as soon as his brain starts working again, after recovering from the shock of Malfoy offering his  _ phone number  _ to him. He feels a bit giddy about it. "Your phone number would be great. To have. For drawing." Harry stops himself at this point, suddenly aware of how ridiculous he must sound.

"But I'm-" Harry continues, hesitantly trusting himself to not scare Malfoy off, "Do you really think I'm the type of person who'd play a mean trick like that?"

"Well," Malfoy laughs bitterly, "we did kind of  _ live  _ to harass each other back at Hogwarts. It wouldn't be so surprising if that was still what you wanted."

"Oh. I didn't realize that you thought-" thinking back, Harry remembers what kind of person he was around Malfoy, and finds he would've expected the same if he was in Malfoy's position. "I guess I need to apologize, then. I really did do some pretty terrible stuff. And while we were both young, it still wasn't right."

Malfoy looks awkwardly away for a second. "I should also apologize," he says, still stubbornly avoiding eye contact. "I did some terrible things to you too, although I still think everything unrelated to Voldemort is excusable. I mean, you refused my hand in friendship for the  _ weasel _ , who, by the way, was actually quite mean to me that first day."

Harry hesitantly smiles at the blond because everything he said sounded more like Malfoy was pouting than anything else, and Harry finds that he's alright with that. In fact, it was kind of… cute.

Malfoy smiles back, an apologetic sort of smile that Harry takes to mean that Malfoy's supposed denial was really an apology in disguise.

Considering the characteristics of Malfoy that Harry is  _ already  _ growing to like, Harry wonders why they weren't friends before.

Alright, so that might've been courtesy of the war, but Harry thinks that they can get past that now.

"So," Malfoy says, adopting his former business-like tone. "My phone number."

"Oh. Yeah," Harry gets his phone out and types in Malfoy's name and phone number. It feels weird to write Draco.

After that's done, Malfoy gets his stuff and goes to leave.

It kind of just pops out.

"Bye! See you, Draco. Er, Malfoy, sorry."

To Harry's surprise, Malfoy just smiles, kind of like he's amused.

"Draco is fine, Harry. See you."

Harry stands still and silent, dumbfounded, as Draco leaves the room.

Draco.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand hello again! This chapter is mainly backstory so I hope you all feel like hugging Draco endlessly afterwards. I feel like that almost always anyways, so let's spread the love.
> 
> Disclaimer: I haven't gained possession of the Harry Potter franchise since last chapter. My mistake. I will say, though, Elaine is mine.

Harry and Draco start off just by texting. They don't talk often and a good amount of their conversations are about plans for modeling over the summer, which always leaves Harry feeling unsatisfied and kind of lonely. Soon, though, they're having long discussions, some serious while others are entirely teasing on both sides, which Harry likes a lot more than the stilted texting. They start to talk often and eventually it segues into phone calls- a much easier way to have the hour or hours long discussions they have almost every day by the end of the year.

Definitely, their relationship isn't perfect. Sometimes they run out of topics, or avoid those they're not ready to talk about, and sometimes it's plenty awkward, but they're both actively and observably trying, and that's what matters.

As a natural progression, they start to meet up to talk, in coffee shops or just walking together, and they soon become fast friends. Draco really has changed, and they're extremely compatible as friends. Harry's feelings, although still purely platonic, deepen to the point where he would call Draco his best friend easily and with a lot of pride.

One day, on the phone, Harry asks how Draco ended up at his college in the first place. Draco says that it's a long story and insists that Harry wouldn't want to hear it anyways. They go out to coffee as usual the next day and Harry asks again. He tries not to pressure Draco, but tells him that they have plenty of time and he would love to hear it if Draco is willing to share.

He reluctantly agrees, and starts his story.

* * *

 

Draco hadn't known what to do. After Hogwarts had been forcefully pried out of his life and his pureblood status had become a source of shame rather than pride, he was lost.

He waited a while. He cleaned up the Manor and scrubbed every bit of Darkness away that he could. He spent hours at a time scrubbing at his arm, until it was a raw bloody mess with the blurry outline of the Dark Mark still evident and bound to resurface. He tried to heal his mother's head, but she spent most of her time laying in bed staring at the ceiling and occasionally calling for Lucius and he wasn't able to change that. He took to reading at one point, and within weeks he had read all of the books that his cleaning had left in the Manor's library.

Once he finished those, he took to reading the Wizarding newspapers, nauseous as they always made him feel. It was reading one of these that he heard about Harry Potter's recently leaked break. They said that the savior had taken a couple of years off to study at a muggle school and reconnect with himself. They said not to worry, though. Surely, everyone's favorite hero wouldn't just up and leave all of him adoring fans. But Draco was far from worried. Rather, he found himself so very, very jealous.

See, he wanted to write.

He loved reading and books, and he wanted to create what he loved, and who was anyone to judge him for that? He hadn't been given the option so far in his life. His father had forced him into "advanced" classes when he could choose them, which were purely ways for him to advance his status. Writing, reading anything like fiction, really just _doing_ creative things was pointless and something that only lower-class people did. So he hadn't written, and he had only read in the dim glow of _Lumos_ at night when all of his roommates were asleep.

But after the war his father had gone to Azkaban, and why should he care about status? He had none. He could pursue whatever he wanted, as long as he had the resources.

To go to a muggle college and study writing sounded so nice.

_As long as he had the resources._

But he didn't, did he?

He didn't have the money nor the skills to walk down the beautiful yet so, so thin path that he yearned to follow. He didn't have the bravery either, or the resolve.

So that flame died out like the rest of them had up until that point, and Draco reread the books in the Manor, unhappy with the lack of a story and more importantly with the lack of a happy or at least satisfying ending.

One day, a day as normal as any could be after the war, Draco woke up and went to check on his mother as always. She didn't look out of the ordinary except that she wasn't staring at the ceiling yet. By this time of day, she was always awake and making sure that there wasn't a single spot out of place up there.

He went over to her, and for the first time in a long time, he talked.

"Narcissa?"

She didn't stir, didn't move a muscle, just lied, peacefully sleeping.

"Mother?"

She still didn't wake, nor did her chest rise and fall in a peaceful, sleep-calmed breath.

"Mum?"

Draco was starting to get worried at the lack of response, and he shakily reached a hand out to brush the hair off or her forehead. Maybe she was sick, hot with fever from the unhealthy life she was living.

But her forehead it- it wasn't hot.

It was cold.

Too cold.

Draco pulled his hand back quickly, and begin to shiver as if in imitation of how his mother must feel. So cold under her blanket. Oh, he should wake her up to give her some warm food.

He nudged her again, wincing at the cold.

He waited in masked denial for her to wake up.

Well, if she wanted to sleep then she could do so. He would go about his day and check on her later. Surely she would be awake by then, and he could warm her up and take care of her.

He went away and came back in less than an hour, smiling in his sureness.

When he saw her blue-tinged face, he rushed to her bathroom and expelled his warm meal. She wouldn't be having one ever again, so why should he?

It couldn't have been intentional on her part, yet Draco felt like if he had done something she could've been helped.

As if any doctor would've treated her.

Draco began to realize, in the few days after his mother's death, how hopeless a life in the Wizarding World would be for him. No one would acknowledge him, and those who did only laughed with blatant malice. There was no one to stay for now, and there was no other reason to stay in the first place.

Draco thought about what staying would mean in the short term. Dealing with his mother's body for one thing, burying it properly without knowing what "properly" meant, and notifying the few people far, far away who might possibly care.

That alone forced him to run back to the bathroom- not one near Narcissa though, he had avoided those since the stench had set in- and wretch out the phantom meal he hadn't eaten in days.

He left that night, carrying anything he could imagine being able to face later on. It wasn't much.

It wasn't anything but the clothes he planned to burn as soon as he could get new ones.

As soon as he arrived in the only muggle town he even knew the name of, he erased the Malfoy in him, and became a singular Draco. He knew it was the town where Harry Potter went to college, but Draco could avoid Potter for as long as he needed to.

The first week, he tried simply to survive. He hadn't any money or knowledge and he spent his nights hiding with almost no sleep from any people that might try to cross his path.

He ate nothing. He didn't know how to get food, and he wasn't about to ask.

The second week, he realized the repercussions of having planned nothing. He didn't have food, clothes, a place to stay, or any money to get any of those things with.

It took him three weeks of starving and squatting in the streets to reach out to Pansy and her family. He sent them a letter that he acquired by begging the person at the post office's desk for the materials. He asked the Parkinsons to please send something, just _something,_ for him to live off of briefly until he could support himself to the address he had sent it from. Really, this was the post box of a college dorm where parties happened so often and people were so drunk all the time he couldn't imagine them caring about someone snooping through their mail as soon as it was delivered. Even so, he would try to do it secretly too.

An envelope was sent back quickly. In it, there was just enough money to rent a low-quality apartment and food for a month or so (they had researched it) and a letter from Pansy herself. First, it told him how she expected him to use the money, and second, it told him that by no choice of her own she was being forced to cut ties with him so that she wouldn't suffer the treatment that he had suffered in Wizarding Britain, and it said that it would be appreciated if Draco never contacted her or her family again.

Although everything about it stung, Draco used the money exactly as Pansy had told him to, and lived frugally after he managed to get the apartment and some food. Even the frugal lifestyle was comparatively luxury as far as he was concerned, After a couple of days, he forced himself to go out onto the street to look for job postings and to get some new clothes. It turned out he wouldn't have the pleasure of burning his clothes, so he resigned himself to getting them off of him as soon as possible and throwing them away in a dumpster on the other side of town.

After he got a job and some months went by, he finally, mentally broached the topic of college and tuition.

He went to the library to research it, and came back with some interesting findings. For one thing, in-state tuition sounded great and would apply to him in a bit more than half a year. For another, it would definitely take him a lot more than half a year to get the amount of money that he would need to pay for in-state tuition.

Although he left the library feeling more than a little bit overwhelmed, he put hard work into earning as much money as possible from then out. He spent the better part of a year living in the apartment, letting himself have as few luxuries as possible, and getting another job. He used almost no magic, trying to get used to the muggle lifestyle. Overall, he lived as frugally as he could. The thought of the Manor still made him sick, so he didn’t go back to get anything that might’ve helped him.

Because of his budgeting and lifestyle, he managed to get some muggle money into savings fairly quickly. Still not enough for college, even with in-state tuition and a scholarship (which was unattainable with Hogwarts as his only past schooling anyways), but some.

He knew that he needed to get a better paying job, but he didn't have the muggle credentials to get one, having not even graduated high school.

He didn't have enough money to get the education he wanted and he didn't have the education needed to earn more money.

He found himself in a rut.

Occasionally he would start to doubt himself and think about what would happen if he just gave up and went back to the Wizarding world? But then he would always remind himself what was waiting for him in that world- no money stored up and a terrible reputation- and he would gain resolve again.

This resolve finally started to burn at him inside when, about halfway through the second school year he had watched come and go in this muggle town, he realized that he had been either sleeping or working one of his two jobs at all times, and he _still_ wasn't getting much of anywhere. He was leading a pathetic life in the hope of getting an education that he was almost no closer to getting than he had been when he'd started.

That day, Draco got very angry at the world and his situation. He had done everything that he was being largely hated for as- legally- a child. And certainly, he had been choosing the option that would _keep his family alive._ While not everyone loved his parents, he was obligated to through blood, if nothing else. After the day in the Room of Requirement, he had realized that he had been wrong, and yet he had spent the last two years hiding from the hatred he feared would overwhelm him if he ever tried to enter back into society.

He decided that he _would_ be in college next year. He would see if he could meet with the college, discuss his options. He would do whatever it took.

He started to work more hours, take more shifts, work harder in hopes of getting a promotion. Over the course of two months, he almost doubled his weekly earnings.

Once he felt that his work life was stable, he contacted the college to discuss options. He wanted someone to meet with him and talk with him, and while they had said that this was extremely uncommon, after his persistence and a sample of some of his best writing they had given in and agreed to send someone to meet him.

When he arrived at the coffee shop, he saw a woman probably in her thirties waiting for him. She was sitting at a table and, at the moment, extremely concentrated in the act of sketching a stranger two tables over. It seemed like she was trying to be discreet in drawing them, but it clearly wasn't working. Many tables around the woman were turned around towards her, watching her draw, and the person being drawn was both unnaturally positioned, and unnaturally unmoving. When this continued for the few minutes it took Draco to slowly inch his way to the table without distracting her, and sit down, he imagined the model had to be actually modeling.

Draco started to get worried that he wouldn't be able to talk to her after minutes of her drawing intently continued to pass. Feeling like it might be a terrible idea, he leaned forward and tapped her lightly on the back. She didn't move at all, save her had still frantically drawing. He tapped her a little bit harder, and her hand paused for a second. It flexed in a vaguely threatening way before resuming drawing exactly like before. After that, Draco didn't dare bother her. Instead, he choose to wait until she was done sketching, which was bound to happen sometime.

* * *

 

Elaine finished her drawing a couple minutes after she got poked twice. She was grateful that whoever had been poking her had left her be. When she finished, satisfied with the sketch, she closed her sketchbook and turned back to her table. So. She was at a coffee shop. She was sure there was a reason, but she couldn't exactly remember what it was.

She noticed that there was someone sitting at her table. How strange.

"What do you want?" she asked.

He paused for a moment, tilting his head slightly in confusion.

"I'm here to talk about… the college? You teach there? Maybe I have the wrong person- I'm," he took a breath, "sorry. I'll just leave."

He got up, clearly embarrassed at what he assumed was a mistake.

"Wait!" she called. "No, you're right. I just forgot. Drawing and all." She attempted a reassuring smile, which, considering her history, probably didn't work. She just hoped that he appreciated the intent.

"Oh," he responded, sitting down quietly, "good. So…"

"Hi. I'm Elaine Taney."

"Oh, yeah. Hi, I'm Draco."

"Well, I think I'm supposed to interview you. They gave me a list of questions. I guess I'll ask you these questions and you'll answer and then I'll draw you and then you can ask any questions _you_ have. Sound good?"

"Sure," he agreed. Then, processing all of what she said, he continued, "Wait, you'll draw me?"

She nodded her head.

"If that's alright with you. I want to draw everyone. I just want to draw."

"Oh. Okay, sure. What are the questions?"

"I'll read them off and you should say the most important stuff first, because I'll stop you from going too long and prompt you if you stop too soon. Good?"

He nodded his head.

She continued, asking him a series of difficult and important sounding questions from her sheet. He answered them well, and she was satisfied when he finished the last question.

"Now," she said, "for me to draw you. Here." She got up and walked over to Draco. She put her hands on his shoulders and for a second he looked confused and vaguely embarrassed, but then she started to put him in a pose, and understanding washed over his face.

"Don't move," Elaine commanded. "Okay, now I'm going to draw you. I'd say it'll take," she looked over Draco, deciding on the level of sketch she wanted to do, "about 15 minutes. Well… No more that 30."

"Sounds good," responded Draco. She could tell that he almost nodded, but he wisely stopped himself. He already understood how important it was to stay still, which was good.

Without acknowledging his response, she sat back in her seat and began to draw.

After about 20 minutes, she had almost finished and was doing finishing touches. She was impressed at how still he had stayed throughout the whole thing.

"Okay," she finally said, "I'm done." He immediately moved out of his position and started to stretch. After a moment's pause, she continued.

"I have a proposal for you. First, let me check with the college."

"Oh- okay?"

After nodding, Elaine walked, abruptly, out of the restaurant and into the street to make her call.

* * *

 

Draco waited patiently, sipping his water and watching her out the window for clues, as she talked. Less than ten minutes later, Draco's patience thinning, the suspense killing him, she finally reentered the building.

He may have looked normal to her (or maybe he didn't), but Draco was very, very nervous inside.

"Okay," she started, still as frank as before. "So, I should start off with saying that I absolutely _loved_ drawing you. It's great. Amazing. Enthralling. Whatever, I liked it. This, as far as I'm concerned, has nothing to do with me liking drawing you and more to do with you. You're nice to draw. At the college, I teach the realistic art class. I want my students to be able to draw you. Will you model for my classes?"

Draco was silent for a moment, surprised.

Remembering something, Elaine continued, "Oh yeah, and if you do model it'll 'pay' well which, in this case, just means will lower the amount you have to pay for college. So then you'd only have to pay a third of the normal tuition, with that and your scholarship from the writing you gave us. Congratulations, by the way. You got a scholarship."

After all of that information, Draco just gaped. One third of the tuition was _doable._ It wouldn't be easy but it meant he could go to college for writing and not be in debt forever.

"Yes! Yes, I will, that sounds great. Thank you _so_ much."

She smiled at him.

"I should thank you as well. I really think drawing you will be a great project for my students. Okay, now the details. We have just over a month left of school. I want to do a project with you for the last month, and all you'll have to do is model. You could model for the first time," she thought for a moment, "two weeks from now on Thursday. Does that sound doable?"

Draco tried to remember if he was working on Thursdays. Oh, of _course,_ he was. Just his luck. He tried to remember if he could try to get that off. That wasn't an option either, because Thursdays were the busiest (he had no idea why) and he didn't want to risk getting chewed out for that.

"I'm working on Thursday, sorry." He thought he could probably get Wednesday off, so he offered that, really, really hoping that he could indeed get it off. "I do have Wednesday off though, if that'd work."

She took another moment to think. "Yeah, sure. That sounds great. Oh, this is gonna be fun," she said, rubbing her hands together and smiling a little bit evilly.

He smiled at her, grateful for all her help.

"Thank you again."

"Don't worry about it. Well, I have to go work on the class plans now. Good luck, and thank you too."

"Bye."

He waved at her as she walked out of the building.

* * *

 

"And that was it, and then I went in and modeled, and you were there for the rest of it."

"You mean you'll be going to college here next year?" Draco chuckles at the one thing Harry has apparently taken away from the story. "Oh that's great," Harry continues, "I haven't had a friend as close as you in a while."

"Yeah, I should be." Draco makes eye contact with Harry. "And I guess it might be a _little_ bit fun."

Harry grins back at Draco.

"Oh, sure, a _little_ bit." Harry's eyes soften. "Really though, thanks for telling me that story. I feel like I understand you a little bit better now, and, it's nice to know that you trust me enough to tell me all of that."

"Yeah. It was kind of nice to tell it, too."

Harry gets up and walks over to Draco, drawing him out of his chair as well. Harry pulls him into a hug, thinking of all the shit Draco had to go through to get here.

The friends smile at each other, each thinking of the next school year- one that will surely be full of fun, friendship, and more.


End file.
